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Sunday, 11 November 2012

The
city is changing again. Just when I think I have a grip on it, something
shifts. Last night's fitful sleep leaves behind a shadow of drowsiness. I
should be closing my eyes but something pulls me out of bed. Shuffling into the
lounge, I make my way towards the balcony door and pull aside the blinds. I
have seen this hazy sun before. Everything around me glimmers; Canary Wharf,
the crane which popped up from nowhere, and the green watering can filled with
rain water; all bathed in the bright Sunday morning light. Reaching out, I
touch the glass and immediately realise it’s cold outside. Warmth washes over
me as I reach to take a sip of fresh coffee...something else catches my eye. A
bundle of paper held together with a bulldog clip. Basking in the sun, it sits
there on the side. Waiting, watching; my unfinished book.

The
Christmas channel has started back again; 24 hours of non-stop made-for-TV movies. My mind leaps back to last year and the week I watched nothing but
festive films back to back, wrapped up in a feather duvet. I smile as I look
up at the pale blue cloudless sky. For some strange reason I jump to the
cemetery in which my mum's body lies. There is no headstone. I try to picture
the morning sun splashing through the trees and onto the damp grass below.
She's out there somewhere, the woman who lives in my dreams. And as I take
another sip of coffee, I can't help but wonder if I will ever stop looking for
her.